


One-Thousand Five-Hundred

by Wiasr



Series: Chronicles of Self [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Naruto
Genre: Drabble, Motherhood, Past Lives, Self-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 06:37:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11307780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wiasr/pseuds/Wiasr
Summary: You have 1,500 words or less to tell a story.Ready?Go.





	1. Kimura Moriko (Naruto)

"Aaaaannnd...that is the last of it, you can stop now Moriko-kun."

Moriko immediately hopped off the small, child-sized treadmill she had been running on, breath coming out heavier then usual. She just _knew_ that the rebellious tufts of hair at the top of her head - the ones that had earned her the nickname _Neko-chan_ \- were drooping like a dismayed dog's from how the medic bit back a smile, glaring at him only made his mouth twitch before he busied himself with paperwork. Even with her recent growth spurt that had her towering over the majority of her age mates, Moriko was less then half the medic's height.

 _Some people are just unfairly tall,_ she decided as she finally got her breathing under control. Running hadn't been exactly _strenuous_ \- not with the sheer amount of energy she now had as an active, eight year old child - but it _had_ been a test of her speed and endurance.

She wasn't exhausted but she _was_ tired.

"You did well," Moriko's mother commented making her glance at the woman. Her mother's narrow, blue eyes were slitted in satisfaction that did not show elsewhere; her mouth was in the same relaxed line it always was when not in use, her arms hung loosely though her fingers were interlocked and hands rested against her stomach, her legs were crossed at the ankles while the wall she leant on supported her weight and even the 'ears' Moriko had inherited - that were basically known to be a solid indication on how _she_ was feeling - from her had not so much as twitched from their upright position.

Once certain that her comment - _compliment_ \- was acknowledged, Natsume Minako let her eyes close once more.

Moriko was free to turn her attention towards the medic, nearly vibrating in anticipation for the results of her physical. Last year, when she'd would have normally been doing this, she had been sick and wound up missing the deadline of having her physical done, which meant she had been unable to enter the Academy at the same time as the rest of her age mates. _This_ year though, she had made sure to bother the adults until she had an appointment scheduled so all that was need now for her to enter the Academy - although a year late - was for the medic to give his approval.

"So?" She finally burst, anxiousness over her results getting the best of her.

He smiled at her, said "It seems you'll be entering the Academy tomorrow." which had Moriko letting out a squeak when she muffled her screech of excitement.

 _Ninja,_ she thought trembling with both fear and excitement at the prospect, _I'm going to be a ninja..._

"Now," the medic said after a beat, "Have you decided?"

Moriko, who had been debating ideas for this particular tradition since she had first heard it over two years ago, nodded and said, as firmly and clear as she was able, "Kimura. _Ki_ \- tree. _Mura -_ village."

He nodded, "Very well, Kimura Moriko-kun."

She beamed.

"Kimura? How...quaint." Minako commented and Moriko fought not to wince, relaxing only when her mother went on to say, "I suppose Natsume doesn't really suit you, though, and it would be stupid to use _anyways_."

It really would, Moriko was trying to keep the fact that she could see the dead a secret after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kimura Moriko, nearly one year older then Naruto, is an orphan girl who, while remembering her past life, is unable to remember anything about the Naruto series. She can, however, see dead spirits though how well she can perceive and interact with them depends on how familiar she is with them.


	2. Maya Faulkner (Harry Potter)

_Whoever coined the phrase 'sleeping like a baby' obviously never took care of one for any length of time,_ Maya thought hazily as she resisted the urge to just roll over and ignore her daughter's screaming. Then her baby gave a sobbing little hiccup between screams and Maya's heart broke. She got up and bustled to the crib - an old one that had been tossed out and she had personally sanded down to get rid of the splinters, painting it white to help hide the age - where Merlin blinked large, wet eyes at her.

_Wasn't that a surprise,_ Maya mused as she picked up her daughter, settling the week old baby to breast feed. After the second night of being woken at all hours, half of them for feedings, Maya had decided to forgo wearing a shirt to sleep in - it made breastfeeding easier and quicker without it getting in the way. _But, well. Merlin is an alright name - if it's good enough for a legendary wizard then it is good enough for my daughter._

She nodded firmly, absently humming _Baby Mine_ as she tried ignoring the odd sensation of nursing. After how many times Merlin had eaten since being born, one would think that Maya would be used to the feeling of a baby suckling her breasts. This was not so.

_I probably won't get used to it until you start eating actual food,_ Maya thought grumpily and Merlin pulled away from her nursing with a quiet smacking of lips. _At least you're cute._

Having learnt her lesson on the third day of motherhood, Maya waited to see if her daughter would continue suckling before rearranging the baby to be burped. It took a moment, but she soon felt the warm, wetness that told Merlin had spit up on her back.

"I love you." Maya announced, resolutely batting away any negative thoughts as she laid Merlin back in the crib and ducked into the bathroom to rise the spit up away. She dried her back with a towel before checking on her daughter, whom had fallen asleep whilst mouthing a fist. "I love you, baby mine."

That time the words were softer, more sincere.


End file.
